


Lords of Attraction

by Dammit_Jim



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Casual Sex, Everyone lives, M/M, Protective Dwalin, Smut, crossover AU, set post-movies, with a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 01:49:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3311087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dammit_Jim/pseuds/Dammit_Jim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin is minding his own business when out of seemingly no where appears a strange person. Is he an elf, man, sorcerer or is he, as he says, a God? Either way, he’s a pain in the arse and Thorin wants nothing more than for him to leave him alone. Of course, that’s before they really get to know each other.</p><p>This is gift fic for my fantastic friend who has been helping me a lot with a recent cosplay endeavour. She asked for Thorin/Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Unwelcome Newcomer

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know if this is crack or serious tbh. I'm surprised the pairing sort of worked tho...I haven't had time to scan the fic for mistakes but I'll get around to correcting any spelling/grammatical mistakes eventually.

Thorin is standing in the throne room, relaying orders to Dwalin when it happens the first time. There is a flash of gold and a stranger, tall as an elf and as fair-skinned as an elf, appears, standing not three feet from them. They draw their weapons upon pure instinct. Though there is now a semi-peace treaty between the elves and dwarves they are not yet friends, and they are certainly not allowed to enter Erebor without invitation.

The dark-haired looks a little surprised, and eyes the weapons, before looking about at his surroundings.

Neither party moves for a moment as they study one another. Thorin notes that there is red blood splattered across the stranger’s cheek, and dirt across his brow. It seems as if he has recently been in a fight. He is wearing black leather, lined with green, and decorated with gold. It is not the clothing of an elf, and that makes him distrust the newcomer even more.

“Who dares to enter the City of Erebor unannounced and without permission!” demands Thorin.

The man raises an eyebrow, “Which realm is this?” he asks, casually, taking a couple of steps forwards, “Is this not Nidavellir? Where is Hreidmar?”

Thorin frowns, “Hreidmar?”

The stranger roles his eyes, “The King under the mountain.”

Dwalin growls, stepping in front of Thorin, “Do you not know whom it is you speak to?” he exclaims, “This is Thorin, son of Thrain, the one and only King under the mountain.”

“Thorin?” the man says, tucking hair behind his ear.

Thorin sees that the newcomer’s ears are not pointed at the tips, and realises he’s not an elf at all, though he seems like one in litheness and complexion.

“I have not heard of you,” the man says.

“Do you insult my King?” Dwalin splutters in outrage.

The stranger glances between them, before flicking his wrist, and giving his hand a lazy swirl. Green mist appears in his palm.

Magic? Thorin frowns. Not a man then. Was this creature a wizard? A sorcerer? “Dwalin,” he murmurs, placing a hand on Dwalin’s shoulder, unsure whether they should anger such a creature.

The stranger looks about him one last time, before sighing, “Well I must be off. Where ever this is, it is not where I intended to end up.” he then bows, nonchalantly and cockily, and smirks at Thorin, “Farewell, _king_ Thorin.” The mist in his hand grows, encompasses him and he disappears in a golden flash.

That’s the first time this happens, and after the first time Thorin immediately takes measures to ensure that the creature never enters Erebor again. In the coming weeks Gandalf helps put up runes and magical wards to keep dark magic from entering the City walls, he then goes on his way, promising that they will never see this pale-faced, green-magic wielding creature again.

Gandalf is wrong.

The second time this happens Thorin is in his bed chambers, readying himself for one of the dozens of Peace Conferences between Bard, Thranduil and himself, that have taken place since the Battle of the Five Armies. Thorin is just threading one of his beads through recently washed and combed hair when a flash of golden light illuminates the entirety of his room.

Thorin spins on the spot and at the sight of the sorcerer he reaches for his ever-present sword. The stranger flicks his hand and green light shoots from his palm, throwing the blade out of Thorin’s reach.

Thorin’s eyes flick back to the green-eyed man. “How is this possible?” he demands, “We have wards against dark magic. You should not be able to enter this City, sorcerer.”

“Dark magic? Sorcerer?” the stranger laughs, “How quaint. Getting ready for some kind of event?” he asks.

Thorin ignores his question and watches in irritation as the green-eyed man proceeds to examine his room, picking up item after item and giving it barely a glance before moving on to the next as if he was bored and simply passing the time. Thorin notices his hands are dusted with black earth, that his clothing is fraying in places and that there are dark rings under his eyes. He knows that look. That look is one he has seen on his friends after a weeks trudge, and on himself in the reflection of the lakes they stop at to freshen up. It is the same look his destitute and dispossessed people had worn for countless years, ever since their home had been taken from them. This stranger, whoever he was, was running from something.

“This is the second time you have appeared in this state. Who are you on the run from?” he asks, carefully.

The man looks up far too quickly for Thorin to have guessed wrong, “You’re astute,” is the stranger’s reply, “I’m astonished that a creature of your breed could come to such a conclusion by yourself,” he spits.

Thorin grimaces at the insult, and puffs up his chest. “Ozirum menu seleku,” (You couldn’t forge a spoon) he spits back, automatically.

In a green flash, Thorin finds himself being shoved up against the wall, and held down by an ice-cold hand encircling his neck. The stranger’s nose is barely an inch from his, green eyes bear down into his own.

“I don’t need to understand you to know that was an insult,” he hisses. “You speak a a language I do not know,” a cold snarl plays across his pale lips, “And I know a fair few. That is not the language of the Nidavellir dwarves so tell me where _am_ I, and _who_ are you?” 

Thorin struggles but the dark-haired man’s grip does not lessen.

“I am an Asgardian,” the man’s eyes glow a brighter green at the mention of the name, “And if you know what that is, then you know that to speak lies to me means certain death.”

Thorin blinks purposefully, in understanding, and after a moment the creature releases his grip.

“I think,” Thorin coughs, clearing his throat, “I think you may be confused.” He is not pleased with his mistreatment but if the past few weeks have taught him anything it is that he must at least try to uphold the peace…as much as he might wish not to, “As we said earlier, the name Nidavellir means nothing to us,” he snaps, giving the creature a cold glare, “And neither does Asgardian. This is Middle Earth, you are speaking Westron and the language I spoke earlier was Khuzdul, the tongue of the Dwarves.”

The man studies him for a moment, “You speak the truth.”

“Of course I do,” he growls, “Erebor Dwarves are the most stubbornly honourable of us all. If you had simply stopped to ask about you might have discovered this for yourself. But instead you appear out of nowhere, and offend and mistreat us. How else are we meant to react to you than with distrust and anger. That, however, does not mean that I need lie to you.”

The man looks perplexed. Then he smirks, “You are either as stupid as I first thought or you do not frighten easily.”

Thorin sighs, “Your magic does not scare me.”

“It should,” there is a warning there, one tinted with shame, but it is gone quickly in light of a quick, sharp grin, “As I have offended you, great King under the mountain, I shall redeem myself with an introduction,” he bows, “I, Loki Laufeyson, a prince of Asgard, formally request that you pardon my rudeness.”

Thorin is unfazed by the sudden genteel the man produces, though he does mutter a reluctant, “Men kemgu gajum menu.” (I accept your apology) The confused expression he receives in return reminds him he should clarify in Westron, “I accept your apology.”

Loki shoots him a sickly, sweet smile.

Thorin sighs, “So who is it that you are on the run fr-”

There is a flash of gold and Loki is gone.

This is not the last time Loki appears unannounced and unwelcome, and soon he becomes a sort of spectacle. Rumours spread, stories grow more and more elaborate and yet Loki seems only to appear in Thorin’s presence.

The third time Loki appears it is during a banquette with Dain II Ironfoot of the Iron Hills. Thankfully he does not appear in front of everyone, or Thorin would have a rather tiring night of explanations and apologies, however, what he does instead is not that much better. The green-eyed demon appears upon an overhang above, and then proceeds to catch Thorin’s eye with a wave, swing his legs like a boy, and weave green mist creatures in the air.

The fourth time Thorin is training, swinging Orcrist back and forth, and trying to calm his nerves over a mistranslation between Thranduil’s son and Kili, which had lead to a heated argument, riddled with threats of a need to defend honour. Loki appears and mocks Thorin to the point he is swinging Orcrist at him with roars of outrage. The Asgardian simply smirks and disappears in a puff of gold light.

The fifth time…sigh…To cut a long story short. Loki Laufeyson appears unannounced in Thorin’s kingdom far to often for a rude, disrespectful, stranger. Thorin is rightfully put out, to say the least.

It is when Thorin least expects it, and least wants it that Loki seems to appear, as if he knows exactly when it will annoy Thorin the most. It is one such time, when Thorin is overlooking the return of the Arkenstone to its rightful place above the King’s throne, that the mischief maker appears. Now that Gandalf has banished the sickness that lies upon Erebor’s gold Thorin no longer feels the unnerving and intoxicating pull of it. The Arkenstone is no longer the prized possession of his heart, no longer the stone that might start wars and end friendships. Now it is merely a family heirloom to be admired from a distance and easily forgotten in the light of a hearty meal or good company. 

Loki is not the good company he speaks of.

Dwalin is standing by his side, watching with an amused expression as Bofur balances, precariously, on the King’s throne, holding the Arkenstone as Gloin attempts to hammer it into place. Gloin strikes his hammer once, twice, and on the third strike it lands in error, slamming into poor Bofur’s fingers.

The dwarf cries out, the stone goes flying, through the air, and into the abyss below.

Everyone holds still for a moment. There is a definite, shared ‘whoops’ filling the air about them. Thorin barely lets out a sigh. What can one do in such a situation anyway?

“You stupid, idiotic-” Dwalin begins to shout, “Why did you drop it?”

Thorin turns from the scene, too exhausted to care. There is a golden flash, and suddenly the smell of smoke, wet-leather, and blood fills the air. Thorin looks up, and blue eyes meet green. 

Loki’s smirking like he always is. He raises his hand and studies something in his hand. The blue light of the Arkenstone glitters from in-between his lithe, pale fingers, “You dropped something,” he mutters.

“Give it back,” Thorin demands, “ _That_ is a family heirloom.”

Loki studies him, “Oh? Important is it?” he asks, “Why’d you drop it then?”

“It was an accident,” Bofur points out.

Loki’s eyes flash a sickly green, “Was I speaking to you?” he snarls.

Bofur audibly gulps.

That’s it. That’s the last straw, Thorin thinks. “Give. It. Back. _Now,_ ” he commands in most mighty Kingly voice, “This is your last chance, mischief maker. I will _NOT_ have you walk into _MY_ home, refuse my demands and terrify my friends. Whatever it is you want tell me now or be gone!”

Loki’s eyes are cruel when they meet his, “You should not speak to me like that,” he says softly, “If you knew who I was. You would show me more respect.”

“Then _who_ are you!?” Thorin demands, “Because you are nothing here. We do not know you, or where you come from, or even what it is you are speaking about most of the time. You have brought nothing but trouble. You are _not_ welcome here.”

Loki’s lip curls, “You should show me some _respect_ , mortal. You should _quiver_ in fear. You should kneel.”

Thorin takes a step forward, without breaking eye-contact with Loki, and he smiles as Loki visibly begins shaking with anger. Green mist is beginning to form around the man’s wrists, and ankles, swirling up his limbs as if of their own accord.

“I am a _God!_ ” Loki bellows, “And you _shall_ kneel before me or die.”

A God? Thorin knows that if it is true he should step back, he should plead forgiveness and ask which God has entered their halls. But he knows none who would misuse their power to do these things, and he thinks in a heartbeat that: if Loki Laufeyson is a God, he is no God of this land. There is still the threat of power, though, and in that moment Thorin sees his only chance and makes a grab for the Arkenstone. He feels his hand encircle Loki’s cold wrist, surprising the Asgardian and dislodging the heirloom from his grip. 

Dwalin watches from a distance, with bated breath and a heart beating - well beating too fast for it to be any good for one’s body. He gasps when the Arkenstone goes flying, and hurries to catch it before it bounces back into the chasm below. A flash of golden light announces Loki’s disappearance.

Dwalin lets out a relieved sigh, and stands, cradling the Arkenstone, “Hey Thorin-” but the King is gone, “Well shit.”


	2. Traveling by the Loki-express

Thorin sees his only chance and makes a grab for the Arkenstone. He feels his hand encircle Loki’s cold wrist just as his vision is obscured by green mist. There is a flash of golden light. He sees stars. He is flying. Flying over the worlds, over the void where Morgoth was banished. His eyes merely water, when they should have burned in their very sockets. He sees beyond the white light to what he believes to be the Halls of Mandos, where Eru Illúvatar rules on high.

When he feels solid ground beneath his feet and the world finally makes sense again he finds himself in a room made from golden stone that is glowing with incandescent light. He looks about him, finds he does not recognise these halls, and hopes to Mahal that they are not those of Mandos, that they are not the Halls of the Dead.

“You idiot dwarf!” Loki spits out in a hushed whisper, “Why did you grab me like that? Do you know what you’ve done?”

Thorin raises an eyebrow. Loki is distraught, unkept, and his air of nobility and power is gone. He looks like a mere mortal, who has made a grave mistake. Thorin smirks.

“That teaches you to mess with our people,” he says not in the least softly.

His deep voice echoes down the hall and Loki looks about worriedly, “Be quiet,” he begs.

“Why should I?” Thorin asks, enjoying Loki’s distress, “When you never granted any of my wishes or demands? I owe you _nothing_.”

Loki’s stares, and that dark warning has returned but he is too jittery and worried to belittle or purposefully anger Thorin so instead he gives a short nod, “Fine. I will give you what you want. Answers and more. I swear on the love of my mother, Frigga, that you will get your answers.”

Thorin considers this and then smiles.

“Now would you be quie-“

A fair-haired man in blue and silver, with a long red cape, rushes past them down the hall. He pauses after a couple of steps, and turns, having noticed Loki and Thorin out of the corner of his eye. He then begins to approach them. With Loki scared out of his wits Thorin isn’t sure how to act in front of this newcomer. But when he turns to ask Loki about him the green-eyed, dark-haired man is gone and in his place stands a brunette stranger, dressed from head to foot in slimming gold and silver armour. Thorin thinks this has to be another one of Loki’s tricks.

“Greetings, I am Thor Odinson,” the man says, he bows low to Thorin, and then turns to the soldier, “Why have you brought a dwarf of Nildavellir to our realm? Did Odin sanction this? Did Heimdall approve?”

“It was ordered of me, my liege. Of course, sir.”

Thor studies the soldier carefully, eyes scanning him, “I must be seeing things,” he says aloud, “For a moment I thought I saw my brother,” he turns away and gives a sad laugh, “But my brother is dead, and no magic or power in Asgard or Midgard can change that,” he barely glances back when he orders a quick, “Be on your way. Do not keep Odin waiting.”

When Thor is gone Thorin turns back to the soldier to find Loki has returned, “So that is who you are hiding from?” he asks, “Interesting. Were you the one to kill his brother?”

Loki glares, “I am his brother.”

Thorin does not expect that.

“Now can we go somewhere more private?”

Thorin nods and in a flash of golden light their surroundings change once more. This time they are in a room furnished with greens and golds. It looks like a rook ill-kept and unused. The large golden doors are barred shut, and there is a light, crackling shimmer that encompasses them when Thorin stares. He thinks that must be more magic.

After a moment of getting their bearings Loki spins on him once again, “What were you thinking? Do you know how dangerous it is to hitch an inter-realm ride?” he glares, “Of course you don’t. You half-witted, short, bad-tempered, good for nothing-”

Thorin scoffs, and rolls his eyes, “Menu shirumund. (lit. You are beardless [real meaning: you lack courage]) This is your home and you fear to tread within its halls. I’d rather be half-witted than scared of my own family and home.”

Loki is livid, “You know nothing of who I am or what I have been through.”

“That’s right,” Thorin nods, “You have some explaining to do,” he crosses his arms, “How are you, son of Laufey, the brother of a son of Odin.”

Loki grimaces, “That is a long story.”

Thorin looks about him, “Well it appears that my duties for the day have been whisked away from me.”

“I am the son of Laufey, an enemy of Odin,” Loki begins, turning from Thorin and walking to the window, to stare out into the bright world beyond, “When Laufey and Odin went to war I was a babe unloved by my father. Odin took me in as his own, and lied to me about my heritage,” he crosses his arms, “No matter how many times I disappoint him or threaten him or hurt his friends, Thor, the son of Odin and Frigga, has, despite being told countless times of my true parentage, refused to call me anything but brother.”

“He sounds like he loves you,” Thorin points out.

“He should not,” Loki gives a cold laugh, before going quiet and somber, “This is why I fear my family and home, because it is all a lie and I am not welcome.”

Thorin walks up to stand beside Loki, “Thank you,” he says, “For finally answering one of my questions, and for telling me something so personal.”

“Hardly,” Loki smirks, “This is common knowledge, dwarf.”

Thorin gives a short laugh, “As much as I am loathe to admit it I think you an I are quite similar.”

Loki turns to him and raises an eyebrow, “You are likening yourself to a God?”

“And you are arrogant enough to have to keep reminding me that you are one.”

Loki smiles, and it is a genuine one this time.

Thorin gives him a smile in response but does not let it linger. He has far more important things on mind, and as a King he should learn from experience as much as possible, “Now what in Mahal’s name is this place and how have we come to be here?”

Loki nods, and his smile is gone. He explains the nine realms, and each realm in turn and in as “simple enough words as your mind can comprehend,” which earns him a slap. He tells Thorin of his confusion when arriving in Erebor, and his theories on how dwarves and elves and orcs can live within one realm, which is confusing to say the least, especially seeing that they reside in the realm of Midgard, or as Thorin calls it: Middle Earth. When he is finished Thorin feels as if his head might explode from the overload of information. He thinks he has kept up well-enough for one with no knowledge or understanding of magic and realm-jumping.

“So you were on the run then, those times you appeared in Erebor?” Thorin asks.

“Yes, I was,” Loki sighs, “From my many…enemies. I realm jump when I have no where else to go, just to give myself some time to recuperate. I had meant to appear in Nildavellir but something went wrong. I, as of yet, do not know what.”

“That doesn’t sound safe,” Thorin notes.

Loki scoffs, “It _is_ safe…” he then gives him a glare, “What is _not_ safe is you tagging along for the ride. I’m surprised you’re not dead, you stupid mortal.”

“I did not know you were about to realm-whatever!” Thorin exclaimed, “If you had simply talked instead of blundered about in my world then we wouldn’t have these communication issues!”

“Do you know where we could have landed?” Loki demanded, “Because there are still countless places in this world and around it that none of my people have explored.”

“I repeat: It wouldn’t have happened if you’d talked.”

“You made me penetrate the walls of the Asgard realm. Do you know how difficult that is? And how dangerous?”

“Well if it’s so dangerous and you’re so angry with me, why don’t you just send me back to Erebor!”

“Gladly.”

There was a flash and it went dark. Thorin blinked, letting his eyes adjust and found himself standing in the King’s Throne room. Dwalin almost faints with relief at the sight of him.

Months later, Thorin is overlooking the clearing of a section of tunnel. Many rooms and hallways were destroyed by Smaug. Thorin might have left these collapsed areas untouched if there weren’t the threat of further collapse. It is dangerous work, and Thorin is doing all he can to help. He is clutching a large hammer when there is a flash of gold-light. 

For a moment he forgets what that means.

Then there is a rumbling noise and the ceiling his coming down on him and his people. He finds himself being shoved out of the way and he lands in darkness. Then the deafening noise echoes to a halt. There is no sound other than his heavy breathing and the breathing of another. Then the darkness fills with a green light and Thorin finds himself within a three-by-three meter air-pocket underneath what must be meters upon meters, if not more, of stone.

He turns on Loki, “What in Mahal’s name are you doing? You could have got me killed? If you think this is amusing in anyway you are strongly mistaken.”

Green eyes glare in the dim-light, “You ungrateful idiot,” comes Loki’s reply, “I saved your life!”

“Saved it?” Thorin demands, and then he softens, “This is not your doing?”

“No!” Loki exclaims, “I appeared because I was in nee- because I was passing by and I saw the ceiling collapse. I did what I could.”

Thorin thinks this over, “But what of my other people? Did you save them?” he is in shock, he thinks, for he can’t seem to reign in his anger, “You better not have saved me in exchange for their lives. I demand you save them.”

There is huff, “They’re safe. Many are also under the rubble but I have created air-pockets like this one.”

“So how shall we get out now?” he demands.

“I do not have the energy,” Loki replies, “If I were at my full capacity I might be able to go back in time and prevent this from ever happening.”

Thorin can’t quite decide if Loki is joking or not and is too angry and anxious to give him a reply. Instead he watches the God, and as he does he notices something odd. Loki’s cheek visibly darkens, and a thin red gash appears, glistening as if newly cut.

Thorin frowns, “What is happening to your face?”

Loki visibly freezes, and looks at his hands before sighing as if relieved, “Some of my magic is transferring from myself to the act of keeping this rock from falling on us.”

“Are you saying that you’re using some of the magic you could be using to get us out of here to simply hide how ill-kept you are?” he demands angrily, “I do not care how battered and bruised you are. If you need all your magic to get us out of this then so be it.”

“It is not just bruises that I hide!” Loki snaps, then he sighs, “But you are right.”

There is a shimmer of green light, and Loki’s complexion pales, cuts and bruises appear all over his visible skin. His hair becomes longer, less kept, and his skin looks translucent. Thorin sees how worn out and worn down the God truly is but has no room to feel sorry for him in light of their current situation. The only thing that brightens are his green eyes, which Thorin hopes means that he has more magic to spare.

“Can you get us out?” Thorin asks.

The stones above their head shake, Loki grunts with the effort but nothing more happens. After a moment he sighs, “It is still not enough.”

Thorin huffs in frustration, “Is there not anything more you can do?”

Loki’s eyes meet Thorin’s, “There is,” he says unsurely, “But I dread doing it.”

“Why?” Thorin asks, “What is it? Surely it can’t be that bad?”

“Jotuns do not share the same…Physical features or attributes of Asgardians,” Loki explains, “When Odin took me in he did not just hide my heritage from me but also my true…form," he looks away, as if ashamed, “I have since learnt how to dispel this Asgardian illusion but I prefer to keep a hold of it as my…” he pauses, “My true form is not…it…”

Thorin is curious, he won’t deny that, but he’d rather leave this heart-to-heart to when they’re not underneath layers of stone. They would eventually use up their air, “It can’t be that bad,” he reassures Loki, “I’m not going to find you any less annoying in that form or this.”

Loki’s eyes are sad when they meet his, “In this form you mistook me for a sorcerer,” he explains, “In my true form you will mistake me for a demon.”

Thorin is about to reassure him that he won’t when, as he watches, Loki’s skin begins to turn blue. Ridges form across his his forehead, neck and chin as the blue spreads. The green of his eyes fades, as blood-red swirls into place across the orbs. There is no white left there when the transformation is complete, though black pupils stare out of the red. 

Thorin stares but he has barely enough time to react to Loki’s new appearance before the golden light, which is quickly becoming rather familiar to him, glows all about and in the blink of an eye he finds himself standing on the top-most level of Erebor’s main hall. He knows this from the debris about him, and from the balcony overlooking the plain before the front door of Erebor.


	3. Not your Typical Bedmate

“Is everyone safe?” he turns to see Loki with his back turned, leaning heavily against the wall.

“Yes,” the God says.

He looks about them but they’re alone. The dwarves Loki saved must have been transported to other floors.

“Are you alright?”

“I did not wish you to see me like this,” Loki replies..

Thorin steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder, “Why?”

Loki shrugs him off, “I am…this form is…grotesque.”

“I won’t lie to you: you look akin to something that might have been a creation of Morgoth,” Thorin says, placing his hand back on Loki’s shoulder and turning him on the spot, “But I know that is not true.”

Loki looks up slowly, reluctantly, and his red eyes meet Thorin’s blue, “You do not fear me like this?” he asks weakly.

Thorin gives a laugh, “Of course not, you might be frustrating to deal with but your blue skin does not make you any more frightening than your pale elven skin. Actually,” Thorin hums for a moment, “I think I prefer the blue. I’m meant to be civil with the elves but trust me,” he cups a hand and whispers, “You do not want to be mistaken for an elf.”

That makes Loki smile, and genuinely so.

“I’m assuming you do not wish the others to see you like this, though?” Thorin asks, walking toward a large piece of fallen stone and taking a seat.

Loki nods, “I would prefer not. It shall not last long,” he says, before joining him, “Simply till my energy has returned to its full capacity.” 

They sit in silence for a long while, and Loki’s blue skin is slowly replaced by the illusion of pale skin.

“Well your elvish complexion is back,” Thorin notes, “Though blue suits you.”

Loki huffs an uncomfortable sigh, “You would not be the first person to say that.”

“Oh?” Thorin quirks an eyebrow.

Loki’s face falls and he looks away again, “Just some idiot midguardian with strange facial hair and an obsession with mechanical science.”

Thorin blinks in confusion.

Loki waves a hand, “It does not matter.”

But Thorin knows that look, “You love this midguardian?”

Loki stiffens, “I care for him. But he does not care for me in the same way,” he says, sadly, “We are…intimate…but he tends to be intimate with anyone that offers themselves to him so I do not believe he would ever give himself wholly to me…” he clenches his jaw, “Especially as I am not liked, nor welcome in his world.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow, “And you would let that stop you?” he asks, incredulously, “ _Show me some respect. Kneel before me,_ ” he mocks, “and you can’t even tell a man your feelings…” he trails off and goes quiet for a moment as he realises what he has just said.

But Loki notices, “You sound as if you have only just realised your words,” the smirk is back, “Am I about to hear of your hypocrisy in this matter?”

“Oi,” Thorin warns, “I think I am allowed the hypocrisy. Your trouble is far more easily resolved than mine. You are already within his bed,” Thorin looks down, and finds himself staring at his hands, “I do not even know if my…my friend thinks of me that way…or could. I do not know if his race allows this sort of thing, or even how his race properly approach such a topic.”

Loki thinks about this for a moment, “Perhaps simply ask?”

Thorin gives him an exasperated look, “And if he no longer wishes to be my friend because of that?”

“That is a risk you must take,” Loki says, and sighs, “I know how troublesome these thoughts can be. If only there were an easier way.”

Thorin sighed, “I hear you.”

Loki pats him on the shoulder, “So what race is he? Elvish?”

Thorin splutters angrily, “You think I would ever associate myself with one of them?”

“Well,” Loki smirks, leaning into him, “I have not missed the way you have looked at me, dwarf, and you have resembled me to an elf more than once.”

Thorin stiffens, before he feels anger building up from within, “I have never looked at you in that way!” he spits, “You are not of my liking!”

Loki raises an eyebrow, offended, “Do not pretend you have not looked at me in that way,” he huffs, before shrugging, “No matter, it means naught to me either way. You are not of my taste either.”

“What?” Thorin demands, “You make a comment about my apparent attraction to you and yet you deny that you have felt anything towards me? Why would you bring up such a thing if you did not feel the same!”

“Ah so you admit it!” Loki exclaims with a smirk.

“I admit nothing,” Thorin growls, holding Loki’s gaze with defiance, “You’re too tall! Too nimble!”

“Well you’re too short!” Loki snaps back, “And too stout!”

“Too pale and wielding too many enchantments!”

“Too proud!”

“Too arrogant!”

Their noses are almost touching, and they are sharing the same air. Something has changed. Neither of them know who makes the first move but suddenly the small gap between them has disappeared and they are making out.

The kiss is what you might expect from two, over-powering, arrogant lords. Both fight to dominate tit, pushing, biting and invading each other’s mouths with sharp tongues. Loki growls into the kiss in frustration, wanting to take control but Thorin does not give in. 

He chuckles, taking a hold of the God’s lapels and blindly searching for a way to undress him. Loki leans back and for a moment Thorin thinks he’s gone too far but then the God smirks, raises a hand and with a click of his fingers they’re both suddenly undressed to their underwear.

Thorin gasps as the fresh air washes across his warm, sweat-dampened flesh. He looks up to find Loki smiling cockily at him, and he couldn’t have that. With a ferocity that somehow still holds a gentleness to it Thorin descends on Loki’s neck, biting down hard an drawing not just blood but a whimper as well.

Loki growls as Thorin begins to palm his bulging underwear. Loki struggles for a moment before pushing Thorin away, “I am a God,” he snarls, though there is an air of play in his eyes, and he does not draw completely away, “You should kneel before me!”

Thorin smirks. So he wants to play that game does he? The king gets down on his knees, and positions himself between Loki’s thighs. He hovers his hands over Loki’s underwear before removing them. Loki raises his hips to aid him in this endeaver. Once free, Thorin sees that Loki’s cock is red and throbbing and deliciously god damn hard.

Loki looks down at him with glazed eyes and a breathless, partly-open mouth.

“Does my God wish me to suck him off?” Thorin asks in his deep, rumble of a voice.

Loki shivers, and tries to speak but Thorin’s mouth is so close and he can feel his refreshingly-cool breath on his cock. When he tries to speak no words come. He gasps, then tries again, though is voice is breathless and urgent.

“You w-will suck me off mortal or-“

But Thorin has already enveloped his mouth around Loki’s dick and he is swirling his tongue around it and pumping down on him. 

Loki gasps and bucks into him, grabbing a hold of Thorin’s long hair and intwining his fingers into the wavy locks. He pulls, and begins to fuck into Thorin’s mouth. The king chokes and splutters but instead of pulling away he digs his nails into Loki’s thighs and holds himself in place, allowing the God to use him for his pleasure.

When Loki is reaching the tipping point Thorin hums and that sends Loki over the edge, coming with a spluttering cry. Thorin manages to swallow most of his cum, though some inevitably coats his chin and chest. Loki releases his hands from Thorin’s hair and falls backwards, breathing hard.

Thorin sits back on his heels, admiring the view of Loki’s lithe form, as he licks the cum from his fingers and chest, though a lot is stuck his beard and hair, “Enjoy yourself, my dear God?”

Loki gives him a sideways glance, “You have no idea, my dear King.”

Thorin smirks and rises, “Well it’s your turn to show me. I am the King and as the King of Erebor I command that you fuck me.”

Loki shivers, before rising, and pulling Thorin into a biting kiss. But Thorin isn’t haveing any of that. He shoves Loki back down, and runs his hands over the God’s smooth, fair chest, thumbing his pert nipples, and pinching them. 

Loki jerks and writhes under his touch, “Oh…oh my king, my majesty. Whatever you wish-” he bucks his hips involuntarily, his cock hard once more, “My king let me give it to you.”

“Then do as I order,” he growls. Loki tries to touch himself but Thorin slaps the hand away, “Ah ha,” he says, and pinches his nipple hard in way of punishment. Loki cries out and his cock jerks at the pain, “Don’t move.”

Loki watches him with lidded eyes as Thorin climbs to sit on his lap. He runs his fingers, lazily over Loki’s chest, earning a hitched breath as each finger catches on his nipples. Then he trails his fingers down, following his thin, snail trail, to the base of his cock.

“Slick it for me,” Thorin orders.

Loki nods, and obeys. He flicks his wrists and the palms of his hands shine green for a moment before he begins wrapping his cock in his pale, lithe, fingers. His cock is shining slick when he’s finished, and Thorin can tell that he’s struggling not to begin pumping. His hands are shaking when he returns them to his sides.

Thorin smirks, “Good boy,” he says, “Now stay absolutely still.”

Thorin rises, and readies himself for barely a moment before lowering himself onto Loki’s cock. He does this with barely a noise of discomfort or distress, and so swiftly Loki is moaning and writhing by the time the dwarf’s hips meet his.

Thorin begins to move up and down upon the God, slowly and rhythmically to. Loki begins whimpering and begging, “Please plea- ah Thorin please more, need more.”

Thorin stops, and lays a palm on Loki’s chest, “Hush,” he orders, “Only those who respect their king are rewarded.”

Loki whimpers.

“Do you respect me, Loki?”

“Yes,” he begs, “Yes Thorin please.”

Thorin bucks suddenly and Loki cries out in desperation, “I don’t think you do,” Thorin says, grinding once and then twice and then once more, “I don’t think you respect me. If you did you would use the correct signs of respect, the correct titles.”

“Thorin I ca- please.”

“King,” Thorin corrects, with another grind of his hips.

Loki jerks, “King Thorin, my king ple- I can’t- I need. Please.”

“What do you need?” Thorin asks.

“Fuck me,” Loki begs, “Please, my King, fuck me.”

Thorin smirks, “Very well,” he begins to grind his hips into him once more.

The breathless gasps and moans Loki makes as Thorin ruts on top of him reveal to Thorin how close Loki is, "Do not dare,” he orders with a grind, “Come,” he gasps, “Until I say so.”

Loki whimpers, and Thorin can see him visibly tensing with his coming climax. Thorin grinds harder, and harder still, and Loki is drawing in a breath and then Thorin grinds to a halt. Loki cries out in frustration, Thorin simply gives a breathless chuckle.

“Not yet,” he gasps. 

His own insides are barely being held together with how much he needs the friction. He can feel himself on the edge of his climax, and the tension of denying himself that last bit of friction excites him to no end, especially as he is denying Loki the same feeling.

Loki is beyond comprehensible speech and is simply writhing beneath Thorin, trying to get that last bit of friction to release his orgasm. Finally Thorin cannot take it any longer and finally rides Loki to oblivion.

Thorin pulls himself off of Loki and lays down beside him. They lay in silence for a long time, trying to get their breath back. Thorin can see stars behind his eyelids and thinks that was the best sex he’s had in a long while. 

Loki begins to laugh, “That was unexpected,” he says.

Thorin huffs a laugh of his own, “To be fair I think it was a long time coming,” he smirks, “You had your eyes set on me for a long while.”

Loki gives him a small slap, “Oh don’t start that again. This is how this all began in the first place.”

Thorin laughs.

They fall silent, lost in post-coital bliss. It takes a moment before Thorin gives a sigh, “You should tell your brother you are alive.”

Loki splutters, “I hope you were not thinking of him while we were enjoying each other,” he jokes but his smile does not reach his eyes.

Thorin shakes his head, “But in all seriousness you should.”

Loki hums, “Perhaps,” then he looks to Thorin, ““What will you do now?”

“I shall tell the hobbit what I should have told him when I was bleeding out on the ridge above the battlefield.”

Loki nods, “And I suppose I shall tell my playboy philanthropist what I think of his sleeping around.”

Thorin nods, “I pray to Mahal for both our sakes that we succeed.” 

Then Thorin stands and begins to search the floor for his garbs. He dresses and when he is just finishing he looks up to find Loki fully-clothed and not in the least disheveled.

“I hate you,” Thorin mutters.

Loki laughs, “No you don’t.”

“So you’ll be going now?”

Loki nods, “But I’ll return to annoy you whenever I can.”

“And save me from cave-ins I hope,” Thorin smirks.

Loki nods, “Tak khaz meliku suz yenetu (Until our travels cross again), Thorin, son of Thrain.”

Thorin raises an eyebrow, “How?” 

“I did my research since last we met,” Loki smirks.

Thorin smiles, “Tak xemu (Until then), Loki Laufeyson.”

Loki bows deeply, before rising and giving Thorin a wink. Then there is a golden flash, and the God is gone.


	4. An Epilogue

Loki makes one short stop before arriving at Stark Tower, though the length of time of the stop should not undermine it’s importance.

When he appears in the Tower it is to find Tony Stark tinkering in the basement, which is not surprising in the least.

Loki announces himself with a cough, “Tony Stark.”

“Ah my Asgardian!” Tony swirls on his chair and gives Loki a gorgeous lop-sided smirk, “How art thou?”

“I have just had an interesting talk with a King,” Loki replies, drifting closer, “And he has suggested that I speak my mind to you.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “When have you not?”

“Many a times,” Loki growls, before returning to his diplomatic tone of voice, “I care for you, Tony, and I wish to have you all to myself.”

Tony gives a laugh and Loki wonders for a moment if hanging him from the ceiling by his breeches might make him take the situation more serious.

“Is this what you’ve been worried about?” Tony asks instead, wrapping an arm around Loki’s waist and pulling him into his lap, “You idiot. If you’d just said…” he mumbles to a halt, and looks up to give Loki a big grin, “Of course.”

Loki grins back, and leans down to give Tony a kiss.

They part and Tony gives him his mischievous smile, “This means no threesomes right?”

Loki rolls his eyes, "We will discuss this later." he says as he pushes up from Tony’s lap and takes him with him, “Right now…” he smirks and puts on his regal, Godly voice, “…I want you to _kneel_ before your God."

Tony shivers, “Oh my God,” before getting down on his knees.

 

Thorin rushes down each staircase, taking them two steps at a time. He’s forgotten how many levels Erebor has and hopes to Mahal he’ll find the hobbit soon before he changes his mind about this ‘true feelings’ talk he’s been planning.

When he reaches the floor in which the cave in occurred he finds the company looking worried and downright distressed, and realises that while he was upstairs galavanting with a God they might have all thought he was dead.

“Uh,” he coughs, and everyone turns to see him, eyes widening and relieved smiles growing across their faces.

“Thorin!” Bilbo shouts, throwing himself forwards and into Thorin’s arms.

Thorin catches him automatically and holds the shaking hobbit close for a moment before pushing him back, “I’m sorry it took me so long to get back to you,” he says, giving the hobbit a smile, and then he realises what he’s said and coughs, looking about the company, “All of you.”

They give him knowing smiles as if they know exactly what is coming.

Thorin sighs and releases Bilbo all the way, “Bilbo I have been wanting to talk with you for a long while now. Though, I have been not in my right mind or simply too cowardly to approach you.”

Bilbo looks confused for a moment before a smile grows across his face. It’s a sweet smile, and it makes Thorin blunder over his words.

“O-over the course of our journey,” he pauses, taking a deep breath, “I have found myself becoming more and more fond of you and I would like to ask-”

“Yes!”

Thorin pauses in confusion, “What?”

“Yes, Thorin!” Bilbo exclaims again happily, “My answer is yes! I wish to be with you Thorin!”

Thorin is dumbfounded. He huffs a relieved laugh, that bubbles in his throat awkwardly and he thinks his eyes might be beginning to water but out of relief, happiness or anxiety he does not know. Bilbo is giving him a grin the size of the shire, and behind them the Company are all cheering and whooping. At least he knows he has their blessing. 

Thorin is probably grinning like an idiot when he holds out his arms but Bilbo throws himself back into his embrace and his little tubby hands curl around Thorin’s clothing to grip him as tight as he can - which for a hobbit is surprisingly tight.

“Ever since that strange man in green and gold healed you on the ridge after the Battle of the Five Armies I’ve wanted to tell you how I’ve felt,” Bilbo whispers into his shoulder, “But I was told I had to wait till now.” Bilbo laughs, “I thought it best not to argue with a God.”

Thorin is giddy with delight, so it is only until Bilbo has finished his rushed explanation that what the little hobbit has said finally catches up to him.

 _I’ll be damned,_ Thorin thinks, _the bloody God went back and saved my life._

Thorin looks to the stars, and wonders if, after all Loki has done for him, he gets what he deserves: a family and a home that welcomes him with open arms.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I was told to post the fic...but I don't really expect any comments/hits/kudos lmao...But feel free to leave a comment if you really wish. Criticism is always welcome.


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